


The Losing Kind

by withhishands



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Brief drug use, M/M, Mandy finds out, Mickey is angst ridden, S3 AU, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withhishands/pseuds/withhishands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt-fill for tumblr user skay-boss-magic who asked for a morning after a block party fic in which Ian and Mickey end up at Mickey's house. Except Mandy and Lip do, as well. Mandy sees Ian asleep in Mickey's bed and Mickey has some explaining (and panicking) to do. Or something like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Losing Kind

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how I feel about this, but I promised I'd try to write it. It's a little fluffy and a little out of character and a lot divergent from season three canon. I'm sorry if this isn't what you were hoping for. 
> 
> Title taken from the A. A. Bondy song "How Will You Meet Your End"
> 
>  
> 
> _and all my days, i've been the losing kind_

The party is entirely accidental. Someone torches a car on the next street and everyone uses it as an excuse for some kind of ghetto bonfire. Mickey sits on a crate near the fire and watches two drunk idiots from the neighborhood create skateboard ramps and attempt to use them. He's pretty sure one of their jumps is going to send them flying ass-first into the fire. Mickey laughs at them and drinks and doesn't mind too much when Ian and Lip join him. 

Mickey gets his hands on a bottle of whiskey and splits it with Ian. He only remembers snapshots of the rest of the evening. He remembers leading Ian back to his empty house. He remembers doing a line of coke off of Ian's bare abdomen. He remembers Ian's dick in his mouth and Ian's fingers in his ass. 

Opening his eyes the next morning is tough. He swallows a few times, grimacing at the stale taste of alcohol and semen. Ian is half on top of Mickey and too fucking warm. Mickey shoves Ian's limbs away and lets his feet fall heavily on the floor next to his bed. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to work his way through a head rush and a headache. He isn't even sure if there's aspirin in the house. 

Ian rearranges himself on the bed, taking up the space Mickey vacates as he stands up to use the bathroom. Mickey lets his gaze linger on the pale expanse of skin now visible on Ian's back and nearly climbs on top of him. 

Bathroom first. 

Mickey pushes Ian out of his mind because if he thinks about him too long, he'll think about his fingers and his dick and the noisy way he eats Mickey out and- Mickey pushes it from his mind because he can't pee with a boner. 

Mickey stumbles out of the bathroom, snags a shirt from his dresser, and sits back down on the edge of his bed. Ian moves again without waking up and snakes an arm around Mickey's waist. He rolls his eyes and shoves his arms into the shirt he's holding and when he looks up to lift the shirt over his head, he sees Mandy standing in his doorway. 

She looks at him for the longest time before glancing at Ian. Mickey stares at a spot on the wall to her left and breathes carefully, like if he's quiet enough, everything will be okay. 

It kind of works. Mandy leaves. 

"Fuck," Mickey mutters. He finishes pulling his shirt on and ignores the way Ian's fingers feel pressed into his stomach. Ian's arm falls away when Mickey stands up, but the idiot doesn't wake up. He rolls over into the wall and sniffles. 

Mandy is sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal, astutely ignoring Mickey. 

"I thought you were with Lip," Mickey says to fill the silence. 

"I though you were straight," Mandy says, looking up at Mickey with a shrewd glare. "Why didn't you fucking tell me?"

Mickey wants to say a lot of things. It's nobody's business but his own, and maybe Ian's. He doesn't trust Mandy. Not really. Not with this. He can't afford to have his dad find out. Mickey knows that Mandy is better. She's older. She doesn't run crying to him or their dad anymore every other week when someone wrongs her. She's more mature. That doesn't mean Mickey trusts her with his life. Because that's what's at stake here, his life. Even if his dad doesn't physically kill him, it'll still be his life in one way or another. It'll be taking him away from Ian. It'll be forcing him into a heterosexual relationship. It'll be taking away what little free will he has. 

"You gonna tell Dad?"

"You're a fucking idiot," Mandy mumbles. "I'm not- Ian's my best friend. I'm not going to ruin this for you. Even though you apparently think I'm a huge bitch."

Mickey doesn't really know what to say. He nods and starts pulling cabinets open in search of a bottle of aspirin and maybe some antacid. Mickey keeps his usually snide comments to himself when Lip joins them. He successfully finds Advil, pops two, and dips out as fast as he can because he's not about to break bread with the guy who's screwing his sister and whose brother Mickey's screwing.

Ian is still asleep. Mickey paces a length on the floor and considers what just happened. It was reckless of him, bringing Ian here, falling asleep next to him. If Mandy had been his dad, Mickey would be dead right now. He's not, though, and he doesn't know how he feels. 

"Shit," Ian grumbles. Mickey listens to the sheets rustle and sighs. He almost wants to be mad at Ian, which is ridiculous, he knows. It isn't Ian's fault. Or, in the grand scheme of things it is because who came into whose room with a crowbar? Ian. He's annoyed until he turns around and sees Ian stretching, the sheets low low on his hips, showing off the ginger trail of hair that leads to his dick. Mickey can't be too upset with that view. 

"I feel like I got hit with a train," Ian complains. He stops stretching and lets his body relax into the bed. 

"You look like it, too."

"Fuck you," Ian says with his middle finger up. 

Mickey stares at Ian for a minute. He stares at the frown set on his face and the way his arm is flung across his eyes and the stupid dark orange color of Ian's armpit hair. He lets a noisy breath out from his nose and bites his bottom lip before inching closer to the bed. 

"Shove over," Mickey mumbles. 

"Fuck," Ian curses. "No. Go get some aspirin. And something for me to puke in."

"Go get it yourself," Mickey says, twisting in the sheets until he's pressed against Ian's side. Ian stops complaining and lets his arm fall around Mickey's shoulders.

**Author's Note:**

> withhishands.tumblr.com
> 
> talk to me!
> 
> note: this is not beta'd. i apologize for any and all mistakes contained within.


End file.
